


Shared Paths

by PepperPrints



Series: Separate Ways [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23746738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrints/pseuds/PepperPrints
Summary: A series of one-shots set in the same universe as Separate Ways.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Luke Skywalker
Series: Separate Ways [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693738
Comments: 180
Kudos: 1864





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request from the wonderful tirsynni here on ao3, who wanted Din reacting to an injured Luke. I'm always happy to write more of these two.

Over time, they’ve carved out a pattern in their lives together. Even with his misgivings – selfish as they may have been – Din has adjusted to the seemingly random whims and urges that send Luke out across the galaxy in his X-Wing: spurred on by a sense of _something_ that Din can’t comprehend himself.

Despite himself, every time, the surreal anxiety sets in that one day he may not come back.

That isn’t today. Luke emerges from his ship very much in one piece – though he’s visibly cautious on his descent. Din cocks his head, his eyes narrowing behind the cover of his visor, and his suspicion is rewarded when Luke pulls his helmet up and off.

A sheepish sort of grin spreads over Luke’s bruised face. Calling it a black eye seems something of an understatement, given how it spreads down over his cheek, and that’s clearly the least of his worries, given how he winces when he moves.

Concern tangles in with sharp, bitter anger as Din rushes to his side, and Luke sighs like he’s dreaded this. “Luke,” Din manages tightly, gripping his arm insistently on instinct – only to withdraw again when Luke hisses on his exhale.

“It’s fine,” Luke insists immediately. “Really.”

But apparently ‘fine’ means leaning his weight into Din as they walk back to the house. He guides Luke into sitting, and he cringes as Din starts to unstrap his armour. “Should tell Finn I’m home,” he offers, as if to change the subject, and Din doesn’t humour him.

“And have him see you like this?” he counters bluntly. “He worries enough whenever you go.”

It’s Luke’s turn to scoff, arching a brow at Din skeptically. “Are you sure you’re talking about Finn right now?” he asks dubiously, though he loses his voice to a gasp when Din exposes the wound on his arm. “Ah—”

All things considered, it’s a very lucky (or unlucky) injury: a shallow gash right in between the plates of his armour. Din clenches his jaw, muttering a curse as he cleans him up. “What happened to you?” he asks in an undertone, and Luke shuffles where he sits.

“I – fell.”

Din likes to imagine that the look he gives him translates well enough, even with the helmet separating them. “You fell?” he repeats disbelievingly.

Catching his lip just briefly beneath his teeth, Luke lowers his voice somewhat. “From a window,” he clarifies, with some clear reluctance. “A few floors up.” Din doesn’t even so much as blink, staring and eerily still, which coaxes Luke into adding. “I might’ve been pushed.”

“This isn’t funny,” Din scolds tensely, his hands forming fists. “Who did this?”

“Din, it’s—”

“Who?” Din repeats unwaveringly and Luke’s posture sinks.

“Hunters,” Luke admits quietly.

\--

Din can’t believe his own naivety.

He should have expected it. The Child, barely walking, was hunted as a commodity for the power he contained. Luke Skywalker, savior of the galaxy, Jedi Master and Rebellion Hero, obviously has a price on his head. Why wouldn’t he?

Honestly, he’s surprised it took this long.

When night comes, and Luke falls asleep with the Child tucked under his chin, Din leaves them both behind. Once again clad in his armour, he finds Luke’s R2 unit, nudging it awake with a knock of his knuckles against its head.

Which Artoo clearly doesn’t appreciate, given how he squawks in protest, and Din doesn’t flinch. “I need you in the X-Wing, droid,” he tells him bluntly, and Artoo rolls back on his wheels with a series of dubious beeps. Swallowing down his instinctive reflex towards his temper, Din heaves a deliberate breath and adds: “Please.”

Artoo doesn’t immediately answer, keen on making Din wait before he slides obligingly forward towards the door. Din falls in line behind him, walking the short distance to where Luke’s ship is docked.

“The last coordinates you used,” Din prompts as straps Artoo in. “Take me back there.”

\--

Despite the gravity involved, Din almost misses this: the world he used to operate in, before he ripped the Darksaber from Moff Gideon’s hands and took his people back to Mandalore. It’s almost concerningly easy to slip back into it, to move through the shadows and the seedy underbelly that burdens nearly every planet in the galaxy.

Simpler than politics. More straightforward than trade negotiations. There’s no debate; he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Luke admitted he couldn’t find them again, but he doesn’t know where to look -- not the way Din does. It doesn’t take long, and Din honestly finds himself mildly offended by their lack of discretion.

The idea of Luke being attacked by headstrong amateurs burns, but as he watches, he realizes that isn’t the right impression. It’s confidence that makes them bold; this is their territory, their space to openly squabble about which one of them is to blame for their failure – the puck with Luke’s face brightly lit between them.

It’s an outdated image. Luke looks younger, less weathered, and the sight of it churns Din’s stomach – though he doesn’t get much time to study it before one of the men notice his presence, and quickly pocket it out of sight.

“Move along, Mando,” he advises curtly. “We’re not looking to split three ways.”

There’s an odd comfort in that old anonymity – in his facelessness – and Din hums. “Didn’t think you would,” he replies, his voice low but steady, adjusting the strap of his rifle in a seemingly idle gesture. “How many fobs are there?”

“One. So why don’t you go scavenge up something for yourself, huh?” His partner scoffs, leaning back in his seat as he sneers up at him. “It took work to get this job, Mando, and he’s ours.”

Tilting his head to one side, shielded by the barrier of his helmet, Din wets his lips.

“That’s your mistake, actually,” he corrects bluntly. “He’s mine.”

\--

“Where were you?”

Given the circumstance, Din figures Luke knows exactly where he went. Despite the suspicion painting his face, Luke looks much better. Din wagers that has something to do with the Child in his arms, but he holds his tongue, stepping further into the house and taking his helmet off.

“Din,” Luke presses with exasperation. “You could’ve just told me. That was dangerous—”

Din doesn’t give him a chance to protest further. His hands twist into Luke’s cloak, pulling insistently as he drags him close enough to kiss. Luke gives a muffled protest that melts away into a sigh under a sweep of Din’s tongue: possessive and adoring.

“Mh. You’re still in trouble,” Luke insists on principle, breaking the kiss with obvious reluctance. Balancing the Child in one arm, he lays his palm on Din’s chest, pensive for a moment before he adds: “How much was the bounty, by the way?”

The question startles a scoff out of him, and Din shakes his head, sliding his fingers through his hair.

“Not enough for what you’re worth,” he answers easily.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At his sides, Din’s hands clench, and he tries to steel himself against his temper, but it bleeds through all the same. He wants to swallow it down, but it feels like a betrayal nonetheless: that Luke would come here and try to speak with his disgrace of a father, rather than speak with Din.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot has happened since I last updated, huh?
> 
> I have to say I'm overwhelmed by the outpouring of praise and support that's flooded into my inbox this month. I truly want to answer each and every comment but that's quickly becoming out of my reach, so I wanted to take a moment to say thank you to everyone here. When I started this project last year, I really didn't expect much attention. I figured I might find a handful of people who also found this idea compelling, at most. Now, here we are, and... well, I don't quite know what to do with myself! Haha. So, thank you, everyone. 
> 
> This is something I had sitting in drafts months ago and almost forgot about entirely. I don't know why I abandoned it, but I fixed it up now and here we go. I also have a separate piece I'm working on which ties more into s2 directly, so hopefully you'll see more from me soon! Anyway, thanks again. It means the world to me. I appreciate it like you wouldn't believe.

Even with the shielding of his armour, the heat of Mustafar is oppressive. Din steadies himself against it, leaving the Razor Crest behind to approach the tall, imposing fortress that looms above the empire of fire and ash. There’s no alarm system when he enters; this place long abandoned and left to its dismal ruin, but instead Din finds himself greeted with a series of familiar beeps. 

Luke’s droid speeds towards him, with more obvious excitement than he’s ever shown Din in the entire time they’ve known each other.

It’s concerning, rather than reassuring. 

“Where is he?” he asks quietly.

\--

Partially, he blames himself.

Luke received contact from a man who wanted to learn to use the power that he spent his whole life writing off as ‘luck.’ The journey wasn’t far and Finn wanted to come -- practically begged -- because there’s nothing else he wants more than to be exactly like his father. Every other time he asked, the mission was far too dire to humour the idea, but this: a meeting with one person in some quiet, backwater planet… it felt almost painfully ordinary.

Din indulged it, because it seemed unreasonable to refuse, and the expression on Finn’s face made refusing him feel cruel.

He should’ve put more faith in his own intuition. 

\--

Artoo leads Din through eerie, empty halls, his footsteps echoing against tall ceilings. If Luke can’t feel his presence already, he’ll surely hear him coming -- and for once, Din can’t tell if that will hurt or help. 

The hall opens up to a wide, open room, and Din can’t tell if its contents were scavenged or purposefully purged. Luke stands at the opposite side, cloaked and hooded, and Din heaves a sigh that moves his entire body. 

“Luke,” he says tiredly. “What are you doing here?” 

Luke doesn’t immediately answer, straightening where he stands and folding his arms into the sleeves of his robes. Artoo whistles warily, wheeling himself behind Din’s cloak -- and Din never would’ve imagined the droid would ever side with _him_ over his master. 

\--

Immediately, Din should’ve known something wasn’t right. He’s grown lax when it comes to Luke’s side of things; too accustomed to not really grasping what the Force is and what it means. When Luke’s potential student acted flighty, Din dismissed the nerves too quickly as simple intimidation. Who wouldn’t feel daunted by the gravity of something like this?

In reality, his fear was something much easier to understand. 

Luke saw what Din couldn’t, his expression shifting miserably from suspicion to sharp, unfamiliar fear. 

“What did you do?” Luke asked, his voice terribly soft, and the man shook before them.

“I’m so sorry -- but they threatened my family.”

\--

“Luke,” Din tries again, when Luke’s silence feels oppressive, stepping closer to him. “ _Cyar’ika.”_

Whether it has an influence or not, Din can’t be sure. Eventually, one gloved hand reaches out, tracing the edge of the wall, and Luke still doesn’t turn to face him. “When there’s moments of… great emotion -- fear, anger, death -- the Force can linger like an echo,” he explains, though he’s shared the concept with Din once or twice before. “The barrier is thinner, and it’s almost tangible.” 

Luke lets his hand fall away again, and Din wishes he could see his face. 

“I thought maybe, given the circumstance, it meant that he might talk to me.”

Speaking of anger. At his sides, Din’s hands clench, and he tries to steel himself against his temper, but it bleeds through all the same. He wants to swallow it down, but it feels like a betrayal nonetheless: that Luke would come _here_ and try to speak with his disgrace of a father, rather than speak with Din.

“Luke,” he scolds, “you’re being dramatic.” 

He regrets it the moment he says it, and something twists unpleasantly in his gut when Luke lets out a bitter scoff of laughter. The unfamiliar sound startles Luke as much as Din, given how he clasps his hand against his mouth to smother it.

\--

It happened too quickly for Luke’s warning to matter. He should have known, and the sting of the realization that he’s grown too complacent to notice such an obvious trap doesn’t even have time to settle in. He doesn’t even know what lucky shot hits him, but his skull rattles against his helmet and he loses time until he hears Luke yelling his name. 

When he hit the ground, they must have figured he wouldn’t be getting up again. Instead, they focused on Luke with everything they had -- and it was working. 

“Din--” Luke’s voice cuts impossibly clear through the chaos, strangled with unfamiliar despair. “Din, they took him--” 

Finn -- just as precious of a commodity as Grogu, too young to fight back and ideal to be shaped into a weapon. Din can’t even see him through the mess of troopers, and try as he might, his head swims and thuds when he tries to make himself stand. 

\--

“I’m not,” Luke argues belatedly, slowly lowering his hand again, and Din holds his ground without flinching. 

“You are,” Din insists. “Your head is mixed up from a father who didn’t raise you, and an old order that couldn’t decide what it wanted from you.” 

It’s the wrong thing to say and Din knows it, but he can’t rein himself in enough to watch his tone. Frustration and misplaced, protective anger swells in his chest every time he sees Luke suffer for the constant contradictions of his teachers.

“Everything that happened to my father came from wanting to protect his family,” Luke counters quietly. “If I’m the last Jedi, then there’s no one for me to answer to -- no one to keep me in line.”

“Keep you in line?” Din repeats skeptically. “You think in one breath they’d tell you to kill your father, and in the next they’d punish you for protecting your son?”

For all the claims of being peacekeepers, the Jedi weren’t pacifists -- Din knows that for sure. Idealism would make that their goal, but unfortunately reality has other ideas, and it involves war, death and a guilt that their order shouldered before being snuffed out. 

“You’ve killed to save people before,” Din states flatly, not humoring the notion of softening the phrasing into anything but the simple truth of it. The Death Star alone surely held hundreds of Imperials on it, and so be it -- the power behind that station would’ve killed hundreds more. Luke shouldn’t carry one single notion of shame about it, nor any of the others who fell beneath him as casualties of war. 

Before him, still shielded by the shadow of his hood, Luke doesn’t waver. 

“This is different.”

\--

When it started, Din thought it may be a side-effect of the blow to his head. Luke finally comes into sight, soldiers thrown back from him in a wave of invisible pressure, and when Din finally sees his face--

Luke’s eyes glow, strange and surreal, and something drops in the pit of Din’s stomach. When his hand extends, that same light bleeds out from his fingertips: violent and infectious as it tears through the crowd before him. 

Distantly, Din remembers Luke’s voice and the almost nervous smile on his face the first time Din saw his scars. 

_The Jedi called it Electric Judgment_.

With a cold, sure lethality, Luke steps forward, and the forces that once smothered him fall twitching at his feet. 

\--

“I was scared,” Luke says tensely. “And I was angry, and I wanted--”

Luke’s posture shifts, and he raises his hands, glancing at them as he slowly tightens them into fists. “I wanted to hurt them,” Luke confesses. “So I did.”

Behind his helmet, Din tightens his jaw, swallowing thickly against the tension in his throat. It would be lying to say this isn’t different; what he saw come over Luke… 

Din has never seen him lose control before. 

“This is why they discouraged attachment,” Luke muses, speaking more to himself than to Din. “Because, when I think about anything happening to you or the kids, I…” 

Luke trails off, and Din doesn’t need him to finish -- the implication says enough. “You’re allowed to be angry,” he tells him flatly. “They almost took Finn. You don’t think that scares me too?”

Luke tilts his head, at last letting the dim light finally catch his face, and Din can’t put a single name to the expression he finds there.

“I think _I_ scared you,” he corrects quietly. 

\--

“Luke!” 

When Din regains enough clarity to call his name, Luke is in no state to listen to him. The entire squadron has fallen beneath him with barely the slightest effort, and now he looms over its commander, unhindered by the way he screams or how his armour gives off smoke. 

Din reaches him through stubborn determination, grasping tight on both his arms -- and while the electricity shorts out, his eyes still glow like he’s possessed by something surreal when he turns to look at him. 

“Luke,” he repeats firmly, gripping tight and unwavering, and Luke startles back to himself with a sudden, sharp clarity--

\--and along with it comes an immediate, crushing guilt that shows in every inch of his expression. 

\--

Din doesn’t answer and so Luke pries, his voice insistent in a way he doesn’t recognize. “Didn’t I?” he asks, and Din doesn’t flinch.

“You know the answer to that already,” Din points out bluntly. It’s pointless to try to lie to him, when Luke can so keenly feel everything Din does -- and the question is deliberately more goading than genuine. 

“You know what I felt,” Din continues. “Don’t use it against me.”

Luke bows his head again, obscuring himself from Din’s vision, and Din likes it less and less. 

\--

On the journey home, Finn sleeps tucked tightly against Luke’s chest. Chin resting on top of Finn’s curls, Luke looks miles away, pale and lost in his own head. 

Din waits, glancing away from the controls of the Crest to check on them, and Luke has barely budged. Jaw tightening behind his helmet, Din finds his voice.

“I doubt he saw anything,” he offers quietly. “They already had him on a ship.” 

“Mh,” Luke hums, quiet and noncommittal, and seeming unconvinced.

Din decided it was better not to pry -- a silence he ends up regretting the next morning when he wakes up alone, finding empty ground where Luke’s X-Wing should be. 

\--

Instinctively, Din knew to find him here. At the core of himself, this is who Luke is: shaped by the ghost of his father, a mixture of terrible love and fear all at once. Din doesn’t try to understand it; he isn’t sure he ever could. His own father echoes in his mind as a tragedy: the memory of strong arms carrying him to safety, a promise swallowed up by the sound of gunfire, and the softer, ordinary moments that feel further and further from his reach the older he becomes. 

“You’re not like him,” Din emphasizes firmly, the words feeling sharp in his mouth. 

Luke says nothing, and concerns cuts through Din’s exasperation. His shoulders slump as he steps closer, ignoring Artoo’s quiet, wary whistle at the narrowing space between them. 

His own bias darkens his mind, and his fury simmers righteously in his chest -- almost too insistent to see beyond. On stubborn principle, he wants to hold onto that anger, but there’s a selfishness in that as well. His temper isn’t helping here, and it isn’t what Luke needs.

Sighing, Din raises his hand, lifting his helmet up and off. He looks at Luke -- unobscured -- and Luke bows his head as if he abruptly considers himself undeserving of it. 

“You’re not like him,” Din reiterates, softer this time, “and that would make him happy.” 

Luke glances up, eyes impossibly bright under the shadow of his hood, and the sight of him still twists Din’s chest up into knots. “Do you think he’d want you to be here?” Din continues, his voice thick in his throat as he nods to the rubble around him. “Seeking out ghosts? When you have everything he ever wanted and couldn’t have?” 

A home. A family. Children of his own-- something close to peace. 

“Come home, Luke,” he invites quietly. “Please.” 

All at once, the tension seems to bleed out of Luke’s frame. He seems exhausted -- still so powerful, but human, underneath it all. Just a man, and as Din reaches out to take his hand, he can’t help but understand the sorrow that he carries with him on his father’s behalf. That against all odds, that’s what Luke found in Anakin Skywalker, in the very end. Just a man.

“I wish --” Luke speaks, then seems to hesitate, taking a breath before continuing softly. Reaching out, his fingertips gently graze the edge of Din’s jaw, soft and almost tentative. “I wish he could have had the chance.”

Tilting his head towards Luke’s palm, Din lets his eyes close. Even after so long, the simple action of Luke’s touch remains inherently overwhelming -- something he may never fully grow accustomed to, and never take for granted. He tried to imagine the long, spiraling path that led them both together, and how easily it all could have slipped through their fingers.

“He did everything to make sure you could,” Din reminds quietly. 

Unexpectedly, startled and even still a little sad, Luke laughs. The strange, sick shadow hanging over him shatters at the sound of it, and his forehead touches Din’s with clear significance.

“That’s the kindest thing you’ve ever said about him,” Luke observes, and Din can’t help frowning. “Thank you.” 

“Mh,” Din hums, and he takes a small step back, pulling on Luke’s arm in clear significance. “Are you ready to go?” 

Luke takes a moment, glancing at the wreckage around them. In the midst of it all, something catches his attention, but when Din follows his gaze, he can’t tell what makes his smile spread. 

“I am,” Luke says, turning his gaze back to Din with that same, familiar radiance that he knows so well. “Let’s go home.” 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mandalore feels different at night. It’s quieter, for one, but there’s a strange tranquility about it that Luke can’t define. Maybe it’s his own fondness merely bleeding out into the atmosphere, making him affectionate merely by association.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for the ever-wonderful ashleyrguillory on tumblr. Check out her artwork; it's fantastic.
> 
> This is for the prompt: your bed after travelling.

Mandalore is dark when Luke lands his X-Wing. He’s greeted by the staff at the docks with familiarity, fond and easy, as his feet once again meet solid ground. 

“No new additions?” she asks, tilting her head to check his ship for an extra body, and Luke chuckles with a bow of his head.

“Not this time,” he says simply, waving his farewell as he leaves, Artoo following obediently at his heels as he disappears into the inner city.

Mandalore feels different at night. It’s quieter, for one, but there’s a strange tranquility about it that Luke can’t define. Maybe it’s his own fondness merely bleeding out into the atmosphere, making him affectionate merely by association. 

The length of his excursions vary, depending on what he finds or what finds  _ him _ . Sometimes, he’s drawn by an almost magnetic pull, and other times he’s left aimless and wandering: a promising lead turning into a dead end. It’s to be expected, he supposes, and he can’t let himself become discouraged.

Whenever he feels an edge of frustration, he remembers Mandalore: with its handful of students and the school built in their names. Returning home feels like an anchor, bringing himself back to the centre of things. 

He does his best to be quiet as he lets himself into the house, toeing off his boots and leaving his luggage at the door. Before venturing further, he sets Artoo up first, earning a grateful whistle in reply, but Luke holds a finger to his lips in a soft reminder. He takes a moment, waiting for any signs of stirring, but miraculously the little outburst hasn’t woken anyone. 

Giving Artoo a reassuring pat, Luke lets him rest, and walks the short distance to the bedrooms. He almost checks the kids first, but a feeling creeps warmly up the back of his neck, and he thinks better of it. With careful slowness, he lets himself inside, and the sight that greets him strikes Luke silent.

Din, dressed in little more than basic, loose sleepwear, looks utterly dead to the world around him. His face is exposed,  _ handsome _ \-- a thought that never leaves Luke’s mind no matter how often he sees him -- and utterly at peace, which is likely a hard-won expression, given the two left under his care. Under one arm, Finn sleeps soundly, one hand clutching a tiny fistful of Din’s shirt, and under the other, Grogu lays cradled against his chest. 

For a moment, Luke watches them. He’s awestruck, in a certain sense, even though it seems a foolish thing to think. Even after so long, coming home always feels significant, and the sight of his family -- and this place he shares with them -- always resonates in his chest with a  _ love _ that burns more brightly than anything he’s ever felt before. 

With careful slowness, Luke removes his armour as quietly as possible. He’s still not nearly as meticulous and practiced as his husband, but he likes to imagine he’s getting better at it as he goes. Somehow, he manages it without causing anyone to stir -- but his added weight when he presses one knee on the mattress snaps Din immediately to attention. 

Luke hushes him softly, pressing his palm against Din’s chest to stall his attempt to rise. “Hey. It’s me,” he assures quietly. “It’s just me,  _ cyare.” _

The sharp, alert reaction flickers and fades, and Din slumps back against the sheets, uttering a quiet groan. “Hey,  _ cyar’ika, _ ” he greets hazily, his voice hoarse in a way that makes Luke’s skin shiver -- but Din shuts his eyes again, sounding like he’s about to succumb back to sleep already -- and Luke wouldn’t blame him. 

Fighting back his urge to grin, Luke tries to find space in the complicated tangle of his family. “I don’t think there’s room for me in here,” he murmurs quietly, and Din pulls the kids closer on an seemingly unthinking instinct. 

“I’m glad you’re home, but if you wake them up, I’m banishing you from Mandalore,” he mutters back, sounding nearly unconscious but also very serious. 

Curling his lips, Luke makes a very concentrated effort not to laugh. “Have they been that bad?” he asks disbelievingly, and Din groans again. 

With an obvious reluctance, he lifts the hand clutching Grogu to grasp vaguely for Luke’s face. “Shh,” he orders quietly, but with an obvious insistence. After some clumsy fumbling, he manages to find his lips, covering them vaguely as he quiets him. It’s Luke that reorients their mouths to kiss him properly, sighing contentedly at the warm contact, and the familiar taste of sleep he finds there. Din only gives a tiny grumble, which Luke can’t quite decipher as appreciative or long-suffering. 

“Okay,” he relents with a whisper, managing to tuck himself into the tangle of their bodies with a grin. “Alright.”

If Din is awake enough to hear him give in, he doesn’t show it. With Finn tucked in between them, and his arm wrapped over him and around Din’s hips, Luke isn’t far behind. Exhaustion sweeps in, and Luke falls asleep: wrapped warmly in the embrace of his family. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t believe him,” Bey sighs, placing a hand on her hip. “All he talked about for weeks was how badly he wanted to meet Luke Skywalker, and now he won’t speak two words to you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valentines weekend provides motivation straight to my brain and so here's another update. This is for a kind anon on tumblr with the prompt: The waver in a person’s voice when they’re stressed.

There’s elements of Luke’s life that Din still finds difficult to navigate. His lifetime has made him embittered with the Empire, and disillusioned by the New Republic -- noble as they may try to be, their failings outweighed the good intentions.

Experiencing Luke’s perspective changes that, though Din still has his misgivings. It adds an element of friction, even when Din does his best -- which includes traveling with his husband to New Republic space, on the combined invitations of all those who’ve missed Luke’s presence. 

One of those people is Shara Bey: a handsome woman with kindness in her smile and a sharp glint in her eyes that Din respects. Din often feels out of place in these situations, silently following his husband like some ominous shadow, but Bey doesn’t cast him the same suspicious glances, and grants Din a respectful berth. 

Bey isn’t the issue, though; the more she speaks with Luke, the more Din admires her spirit. What settles on him uneasily is how quickly his son has attached himself to hers.

The two of them haven’t gone out of eyeshot, but they roam the hangar excitedly -- Finn wants to see the Alliance ships, and Poe is very proud of his ability to name every single one, along with all their unique advantages. 

“I can’t believe him,” Bey sighs, placing a hand on her hip. “All he talked about for weeks was how badly he wanted to meet Luke Skywalker, and now he won’t speak two words to you.” 

Luke laughs a little, shaking his head. “Maybe he’s just shy?” he offers.

Din doesn’t think that’s the case at all. 

“Hey!” Din snaps, the sound of his voice seeming to startle everyone at once, after they’ve grown accustomed to his stoic silence. “Finn, what are you doing? Get down from there.” 

The pair of boys glance up from where they hang on a ladder leading up to an A-Wing. Finn only looks a little shameful, not budging from his spot. “But _Buir,_ Poe wants me to show me the cockpit,” he protests. 

“Absolutely not,” Din states flatly. “Get down.” 

Both boys argue at once, a mixture of pleading and protests, and Din can’t hear a single coherent word between the two of them. 

“It’s safe,” Bey cuts in to assure him. “Nothing in the hangar turns on without official codes. They can’t hurt themselves.” 

Din still doesn’t like it, and Finn can obviously tell, because he switches his pleads to another parent. “It’s safe, Dad,” he repeats earnestly. “Poe says he does it all the time!” 

Luke softens far too easily and he offers Din a shrug. “I can’t see the harm,” he reasons. 

That’s all the permission the boys need. They scurry up the ladder, loudly babbling to each other as they climb up and into the cockpit together. Bey follows shortly after, which Din recognizes absently as a gesture of goodwill by keeping an eye on them -- but it doesn’t abate the fire simmering in Din’s chest. 

With their relative privacy, Luke steps closer and he touches Din’s arm, finding a gap in the Beskar with fond familiarity. “They’re fine,” Luke promises gently. “What’s upsetting you?” 

Din turns his helmet sharply. “I’m not upset,” he argues curtly, and Luke lifts his brows disbelievingly.

“Before you say anything,” Luke states coolly. “It’s not the Force; I have ears and I know how you sound when you’re stressed.” 

Din stalls awkwardly, idly shifting his weight to his other foot. “I’m not stressed,” he insists, unconvincingly. 

Smirking, Luke leans up and bumps their foreheads together. It’s brief, but still significant, even after all this time. “You are,” he insists. “Your voice gives you away.” 

The tease conceals an intimacy alongside it: that Luke has spent so long without seeing Din’s face, that he’s grown acutely attuned to the sounds and inflections in his voice. It’s a certain sort of devotion, but Din doesn’t get time to linger on it -- distracted as Luke continues. 

“It’s very sweet,” Luke says indulgently, the praise mingled in with a taunt. “You’re at your most handsome when you’re ridiculously overprotective.” 

“Very funny,” Din says dryly, but he supposes he should concede the point: realistically, Finn isn’t going to hurt himself by having a little fun. 

If he examines the impulse too closely, his mind wanders. Finn is too young to have already suffered so much, and the notion weighs heavily on Din’s shoulders. When they took him in, they made a vow. This new family is a sanctuary for Finn, promising him safety, and Din can’t bear the thought of failing in that duty.

In the scheme of things, playing around in an Alliance ship isn’t really the biggest threat.

“Dad! _Buir!_ ” he calls out, popping up into sight. Finn wears an oversized helmet gleefully, smiling hugely despite how it absolutely does not fit him. He holds it steady with both hands as he shouts down at them. “Look what Poe found!” 

“How many times has he said that kid’s name?” Din asks wearily. 

“A lot,” Luke replies, casting a smirk at him. “He’s about to become even more relentless about visiting. You know that, right?” 

Unfortunately, he does. Din lifts his helmet, finding Finn waving excitedly down at him, and all he can do is sigh and wave warmly in return. 

  
  



End file.
